


The Dance

by spnstuck



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, F/M, No Context, anyway enjoy, i had to submit something for a literature magazine, no names, this is vague on purpose lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnstuck/pseuds/spnstuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is one dance they share.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. I got distracted again.

He had to admit that she was beautiful; it felt wrong to deny God’s greatest work.

Her dress shone sky blue, the kind of sky they only got to see briefly, before smoke clouded its hue. Her hair, blonde, cut short, soft (he imagined, for he had never touched gold before) gilded her face with an amber glow. 

God’s greatest work. But only for a night.

Tomorrow she would shed sky for earth, draped not in silk but in the rough brown camouflage that chafed his own wrists if he wasn't careful.

Tomorrow, her hands, which tonight she pretended were smooth and soft, would wrap around a trigger and a barrel and maybe the neck of a fallen soldier. The man knew of a few others who would take a bullet to feel those chapped fingers pass over his eyelids. The man knew he was one of them. 

Tomorrow, his own wrists would feel fire and his mouth would taste gunpowder. Shouts and cries would whisper around his ears as bitter smog stuffs his nose. The highlight of his day would be their eyes meeting from across the ditch: a shared moment of terror, thrilling in its brevity. Its acceptance, as bullets roared over their heads.

They shared a similar look now, across the ballroom floor. She floated over to him as a long, sweet note fell from the violins. 

“A dance?” He asked, and she offered her chipped fingernails shyly. 

He took it (who wouldn't?) and pulled her closer, and suddenly they were dancing. Two ripples of the same wave, two angles curved in the same shape, two leaves caught in the same breeze, tossing and whirling in perfect tandem.

The music ruffled his hair and trickled down his spine. Heavy, harmonious, and beautiful, the violins pushed them closer. Their heads bent. Their fingers intertwined. He reached out to brush her hair. It was not soft. Desert winds and sand had cut it coarse.

The song drifted away, echoing in a last few notes before fading entirely. He was suspended in those seconds. She made a noise, and he looked down.

Makeup bruised her face. When she wiped her nose, the back of her hand came away with bloody lipstick. Her tears were silent, polite, and somber. She gasped something through them, and he had to lean closer in order to hear.

“Play it again,” she whispered, “Play it again.”


End file.
